


Hurt

by brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: I just needed to write something, M/M, i don't even know what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 21:51:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2244618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly/pseuds/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in 4x07, I think. Basically the episode where Mickey found Ian in Fairy Tale, and what happened after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, comments and criticisms are more than welcome. Would love to hear from you guys.

Mickey Milkovich’s chest hurt. Being a Milkovich, growing up with his father, meant that Mickey had never been a stranger to pain. He’d been shot, he’d been beaten, he’d come a hairsbreadth from being stabbed. And it hadn’t come close to the pain he’d felt when he realised that Ian was walking away, and he wasn’t planning on coming back.

It’d been weeks, and every morning he’d woken up and he’d told himself that it’d get better, that somehow it’d hurt less. He just needed a little time to get over the redhead. Little lies designed to make Mickey feel better. And every night, he’d lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, and the pain in his chest would hurt the same. Hell, some nights, it’d hurt even worse.

One night, after drinking himself into something of a comfortably numb state, Mickey’d realised that it wasn’t getting better. The pain was as fresh as it’d been the day he’d seen that emptiness in Ian’s eyes, the disappointment hiding behind the indifference.

More than anything, Mickey had wanted Ian back. Wanted to listen to his non-stop chatter, maybe touch him all casual like. Jesus, Mickey’d settle for just being able to look at him, see that the redhead was okay. He’d deny it if anyone ever asked, but it wasn’t the sex he missed the most. What he ached for, more than anything, was that look Ian would get in his eyes when he looked at Mickey. Like the redhead saw someone worth something. Every night he’d hoped that somehow, the other boy would make his way back, and things would go back to the way they’d been.

Wish ful-fucking-filled.

When Mickey’d first caught sight of Ian, he’d felt this intense... relief. More intense than any of the times that Terry’d been arrested; more than the times he and his siblings had managed to skate by with Child Services. This was like finally being able to exhale after holding his breath for too long.

Ian was here, in Chicago, not being blown up by a bunch of crazy towel-heads. But then Mickey had really looked, and his relief was short-lived. Because Ian was... different. He was in these tiny shorts, his face was pale, and he was rubbing himself up against some middle-aged queer.

The sight made Mickey’s skin crawl.

Talking to him had made things worse. It’d been obvious that Ian had taken something; he was out of it, his pupils were dilated, he couldn’t seem to focus.

Mickey’s whole chest had hurt, seeing Ian like that. Seeing people taking advantage of the other boy while he was so out of it pissed him off like nothing else. So knocking the nasty old guy groping and licking at Ian had felt good. For a brief moment, Mickey was able to forget the ache in his chest; let the familiar feeling of anger burn away the hurt.

Until he looked around and saw Ian lying in the snow, out cold.

Then the pain was back, worse than before.

Guilt— _Jesus, was it his fault Ian was like this?_

Worry— _what the fuck had Ian been taking?_

Anger— _why couldn’t he have just stayed with me?This wouldn’t be happening if he’d just fucking stayed!_

Hopelessness— _will he even want my help?_

Relief— _Ian’s here._

Mickey crouched down, shaking the other boy gently in an effort to get him to wake up. Fucking hell, the redhead’s skin was freezing. And no fucking wonder, all he was wearing was some thin tank top.

Seeing no other option, Mickey managed to pick Ian’s limp body off the snow in a fireman’s lift. He knew that his back was gonna be killing him in the morning, but he didn’t fucking care. There was no way that Mickey was just gonna leave the other boy lying there. Besides, any pain in his back should distract him from the churning in his stomach at seeing Ian like this.

Resolute, Mickey began to walk, pulling a face when he noticed the looks he was getting. Made him wonder if any of these assholes would’ve stopped to help Ian if they’d seen him, or if they would’ve just stepped over him. The thought made Mickey’s blood boil. He was pretty sure that the anger would’ve fuelled him, would’ve given him the energy to run home with Ian draped over his shoulder.

A voice broke through Mickey’s thoughts, calling out for anyone who was waiting for a Uber. Mickey paused for a second. Probably a good idea to get Ian outta the cold, he thought before heading over.

It took some effort to get Ian in the car, his unconscious form making it difficult for Mickey to move him around. Finally, he’d gotten the redhead inside the warm vehicle, and Mickey breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about Ian catching fuckin’ pneumonia or something.

He didn’t speak to the driver as they made their way further into the South Side, heading to the Milkovich house. Mickey had briefly considered giving the Gallagher’s address, but he knew that Ian wouldn’t want his family to see him like this. His decision to take the other boy to his house had nothing to do with the fact that Mickey didn’t think he’d be able to handle letting Ian out of his sight. He let out a quiet, derisive snort. Yeah, right.

For the duration of the ride, Mickey just sat there, staring at the face that had kept him up at night. Ian was gaunt, and it looked like he’d lost some weight. And still... he was the most beautiful thing Mickey had ever seen. He didn’t even have the energy to cuss himself out at the thought. Yes, it was gay. Yes, it was corny as fuck. And he didn’t give a shit, because Ian was sitting right next to him after he’d had months of nothing more than jerking himself off to that picture of the redhead.

Mickey was just about to reach out to touch the other boy: nothing pervy, just wanting to run his fingers along Ian’s arm or his cheek. He didn’t get the chance. The car jerked to a stop outside the house, and the driver turned around to look at Mickey expectantly.

He paid the guy, and got out of the car. He hurried around to the other door, pulling Ian out and putting him over his shoulder. The car took off as soon as Mickey shut the door, leaving a trail of exhaust fumes in its wake.

Mickey drew in a deep breath before heading into the house. He didn’t like the idea of bringing Ian inside, thinking back on all the fucked up shit that had happened in that place.

Terry intruding on them the one time they’d felt safe; Mickey having to fuck the hooker who later became his wife; Ian telling him that he planned on enlisting.

No, Mickey really didn’t want Ian anywhere near this shit hole.

But, just like so much else in his life, he didn’t have a choice.

Somehow, Mickey managed to get the door open without losing his grip on the boy he was carrying. Trying to ignore the irony in that, in the fact that he was holding on as tight as he could after he’d let the other boy walk away, he let out a few muffled curses before using his foot to shut the door.

Mickey hurried to his room. Last thing he wanted to do was drop Ian, but that was exactly what was gonna happen if he didn’t move his ass. By the time he reached his bedroom, the bedroom he shared with his wife, he back was screaming. Instead of dropping the redhead on the bed, Mickey lowered him down gently, being careful not to jolt him.

Mickey knew that his behaviour probably would’ve surprised people. Hell, it kinda surprised him too. ‘Gentle’ wasn’t a word typically associated with the Milkovich clan. But... _fuck,_ he couldn’t stand the idea of hurting Ian any more than he already had.

Suddenly, Mickey’s legs felt like led as the guilt settled on his shoulders, as the ache started up in his chest again. He couldn’t move, even though he knew he should probably try and wake Ian up, get him into the shower or maybe make him eat something. Jesus, even if he couldn’t bring himself to do that, run the risk of seeing that blank look again, he should at least cover Ian up. The other boy must’ve been freezing in his threadbare tank, even with the heat on.

But Mickey couldn’t move.

He just sat there, staring at the person he’d missed so much it hurt. For a long time, that’s what he did: smoking a cigarette while watching Ian breathe. Mickey knew it was stupid, but he just wanted to reassure himself that Ian was _here,_ with _him_ , and that he was safe.

As safe as anyone could be in this fuckin’ house.

Mickey was on his third cigarette when something made him look up. Standing there, wrapped up in a towel, was Svetlana. Neither of them said anything, just staring at each other. He felt a flicker of guilt; god knew this fucking joke of a marriage hadn’t been easy for her either. But the emotion was gone as soon as it came. Right now, Mickey didn’t give a shit about much else beyond the young man lying on their bed.

He was barely aware of Svetlana leaving. All his focus was on Ian; wondering where he’d been, what he’d been doing. Wondering if Ian had actually enlisted, wondering what had changed his mind and driven him to shaking his ass at a bunch of closeted geriatrics.

He wondered if Ian had even missed him.

And sitting there, in the stillness of his room, Mickey _hurt_.


End file.
